


Skipping Work

by EndangeredFandom (EnglishLanguage)



Category: Tron (Movies), Tron - All Media Types, tron legacy - Fandom
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Gen, Light Angst, Movie Night, Overworking, Sharing a Bed, Sleeping Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 00:59:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19415179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnglishLanguage/pseuds/EndangeredFandom
Summary: Tron is visiting from the Grid and notices that Sam is overworking himself, Tron will not tolerate this.





	1. You're my Idiot

Tron has been visiting Sam for five days, and Sam has been present about half of that time. When the User is in his house, instead of the ENCOM building, he is tired and worn out. His condition worries the program because, according to Tron's calculations, Users were not made to withstand long periods of activity without a proper amount of rest. Too much stress seems to harm Users as well.

  
Sam Flynn thinks that he must do everything alone. That idea is a very prominent trait in Sam Flynn, Tron contemplates as he sits in Sam's quiet house. Only Marv creates sound when he occasionally pads around the building.

Sam has claimed that he hadn’t been as busy before, in the sense that he hadn’t worked in a very... steady, career. But even then Sam always worried about cleaning the house, preparing food (especially once Quorra came), and taking care of the programs and dog occupying his dwelling.

  
Today, Quorra is away with Lora, touring some local museums. Sam said he would be back by five o'clock, early by his new working standards. Five, however, is three hours away. A growl rumbles from Tron’s throat, scaring Marv into a different room. The waiting irritates Tron to the point of outright anger. “Glitch your grid-bugged dedication to your job, Sam.” The program grumbles to himself.

  
A warbling ring bursts out from a small, sleek rectangle of metal and glass. Sam gave Tron this _phone_ in case of emergencies. Tron acutely remembers how he had protested this with the slight lie that he thought Sam was being overcautious, and that the program could protect himself, to disguise the fact that he did not feel at ease using a computer so flippantly.

Sam had eventually convinced Tron to keep the phone at the house just as a precaution.  
Tron tentatively reaches for the phone, pressing the green button as Sam educated him to do earlier. To Tron’s surprise, Sam’s comfortingly familiar voice doesn't come through as the program expects. Instead, he hears Alan_One, or as the User insists, just Alan.

  
“Hey Tron, it’s Alan. Sam said I could reach you through this number?” Tron's User’s voice rings clear through the phone’s speaker. The tone of it implies he has questions to ask, so Tron decides to be curt.

  
“Yes." A strange, queasy feeling clutches Tron’s stomach as he grips the phone, imagining the computer and all of the programming inside the device.

  
Alan continues, “I didn’t want to have to place this responsibility on your shoulders, Tron, but-” he sighs- “could you make sure Sam isn’t overworking himself? I’m sure you have noticed and I have tried to talk to him about it. However, he is stubbornly... invested in his work. I assume that you're the only one who could probably talk some sense into him.” Weariness hangs on Alan’s words, proving that this argument between Sam and Alan has been a consistent and very tiring topic.

Alan pauses, as if waiting to see if Tron will say anything before continuing, “I’ve just left ENCOM. Sam’s still there, so if you could call him and ask him to go home early that would be helpful.” Alan’s voice carries a tinge of awkwardness. He's clearly not used to the fact that his twin program is alive, in a sense, and able to communicate with Users.

  
“I can do that, Alan_One.” Tron replies shortly, but not unkindly.

  
An aggrieved sigh escapes from the other side of the phone. “Please, just Alan. Thank you for your help though, Tron, I really appreciate it.”

The call ends and Tron hastily places down the phone.

  
Calling Sam to persuade him to stop overworking himself would be difficult, and Sam would insist he is fine and hang up quickly, wanting to avoid the tricky conversation. Therefore, it'll be more productive if Tron goes to ENCOM himself. Tron despises the thought of picking up that phone again, but he will have to touch it one more time to schedule an appointment with Sam Flynn, which Tron thinks is very impractical. He sighs and picks up the phone.

  
After the phone call, Tron promplty leaves for ENCOM tower, luckily, Quorra hadn’t taken Sam’s second motorcycle. Tron screeches to a stop right outside of the tower in a parking lot. The programs leans on a propped up motorcycle outside of the towering steel-and-glass building. 

  
It takes a good twenty minutes or so, but finally Sam leaves the building, hurrying over to Tron. “Is everything alright? The receptionist just said that you wanted to meet with me.”

  
“Nothing’s wrong, except for the fact that you work too much. It isn’t healthy for Users to work this much, Sam," Tron points out matter-of-factly.

  
Sam groans. “Tron, I have to get back to work, there are projects I need to finish,” The User trails off, glancing at Tron with an exasperated look. “Listen, I’ll leave in about three hours, I promise. Just... I dunno. Read one of Quorra’s books or something while you’re waiting.”

  
Tron growls, clearly displeased with Sam’s stubbornness. It is a stalemate. Tron won’t leave without Sam, and yet Sam refuses to leave before five o'clock. Sam is being difficult, just as Alan had implied. The two stand there momentarily, both wondering who will make the first move.

Sam finally grows tired of the uncomfortable silence, and sighs, looking at Tron. 

“Alright Tron, I’ll see you soon, okay?” Without waiting for the program’s reply, Sam turns around to disappear back into the cold steel-and-glass building of ENCOM.

  
Sam breathes out, sounding tired, as he walks back towards the sliding doors. They whoosh open obligingly; however, Sam never gets far enough to enter the building. Tron hoists Sam over one shoulder like a bag of flour, somehow maintaining a mostly straight face (though ghost of a smile lingers on the program’s mouth).  
“Tron! What the heck man, I have a job," The User groans, flashing an apologetic smile to the receptionist scrutinizing the strange scene from above the front desk. The sliding doors close, cutting off her sight of Sam.

  
“So do I." Tron doesn’t release Sam, who is no longer trying to struggle out of the program’s grip. “I am taking a break from my job to visit you, and you just decide to work half of the time. Your work is consuming you, Sam.”

  
Sam grumbles, “At least put me down, will you?” Thankfully, Tron does. However, Tron can effectively prevent any of Sam’s attempts to go back to the ENCOM building.

  
Tron tilts his head slightly. "Where is your motorcycle?”

  
“In the garage, lemme go get it.” Sam replies. With his guard down, he allows Tron to hear the exhaustion weighing down each of Sam’s words.

  
“Fine, but don't you dare disappear into that building again, you gridbug.” Tron’s words seem to grind against each other, creating a whirring clicking sound, or a growl, you could call it. A remnant of Rinzler.

  
“Ah, so I'm the idiot here," Sam sighs, creating small talk to distract himself from reminding himself of his experiences inside of the Grid.

  
“Yes,” Tron concurs, “but you’re my idiot.” The program finishes affectionately, smiling.

  
Sam rolls his eyes. “You dork," he retorts, and leaves momentarily to retrieve his motorcycle.


	2. A Watched Pot Never Boils

Two motorcycles dash through the freeway, grumbling loudly as they weave through Subarus, Fords, motorcycles, and other vehicles. Tron’s face wears a pleased look underneath his helmet because Sam had promptly returned with his Ducati instead of sneaking back to work.

  
Tron casts a glance back at the User. Sam’s shoulders slump at a particular angle that gives away his fatigue of working from six o’clock to about ten-thirty each day. Sam hides his exhaustion well, most of the time only Tron, and sometimes Alan, can notice.

  
It is a particular look in the User’s eyes, the way he holds his shoulders, even the way his voice fluctuates. It’s obvious to Tron, and it frustrates him how oblivious Sam is to his own health. The program isn’t always there to make sure that Sam sleeps enough, or that he feeds himself well instead of just preparing a meal for Quorra before driving off to ENCOM. In addition, Sam constantly forgets to do hygienic chores around the house, such as changing the sheets on his bed, because of his busy schedule.

  
Tron glares at the back of Sam’s helmet as the pull into the gravel road to Sam’s house, immensely annoyed at the ignorant User. Sam and Tron park their motorcycles in a shed-like garage next to the house before walking inside. Tron leans against the back of one of the couches while Sam goes to turn on the air conditioner.

  
“Man, it gets hot in here, doesn’t it?” Sam comments absentmindedly as he walks back into the living room. “Summers sure are hot in California, especially in the afternoon.” Sam continues when Tron makes no comment. The User sighs and ambles to the kitchen, some pots clanging together as Sam pulls out a larger one and puts it on the stove, filling it with water and turning on the heat. “I was thinking pasta tonight, your and Q’s favorite.” Again, no response whatsoever from Tron. The tense silence continues for a while, clogging the air with a thick, strained feeling.

  
Tron lets out a low growl, expressing his evident irritation. Sam looks up slowly from his cooking, concern showing in his blue eyes. His hands work anxiously at the end of a dish towel. “Tron, what’s up buddy?”

  
“When was the last time you showered?” He responds in a snappish, clipped manner.

  
“‘Scuse me?” Sam asks in confusion, his brows furrowing. He has dropped the towel and is gripping the edge of the counter with a tired look on his face.

  
“You heard me,” Tron grumbles, “shower time.”

Sam lets out a startled grunt-like sound. “Tron, I’m not a little kid. And I have things to do, I can shower tomorrow morning.” The User hurriedly returns to cooking the pasta, opening a jar of tomato sauce.

“Sam, you’re tired.”

The User doesn’t respond. Any contradictory answer would obviously be a lie, and Tron would know.

“Let me take care of you.” The program continues quietly, as if not to scare off a shy deer.

“But Tron, the pasta. . .” Sam argues weakly.

“Can wait,” Tron assures the tired User, walking over and removing the pot from the stove top and turning off the burner. If Tron is burned by the scalding metal, he does not show it. The program’s arms lightly rest on Sam’s shoulders, guiding him towards the shower and preventing any method of escape.

  
Tron opens the door to the bathroom and his lips twitch into a half smile. It’s hideous, in Tron’s opinion. It always has been because no one had remodeled it since it was built. Plus the fact that the white tiles lining the floor and the lower half of the walls were stained a creamish color, due to impractical and inefficient cleaning schedules. All sorts of grime have accumulated around the calk lining the shower-bath hybrid and the sink, in addition, the mirror was always covered in spots of watermark. But some fond memories are linked to this bathroom, and so Tron smiles.

  
Sam sulks near the doorway, frowning at nothing in particular while the program turns on the shower, messing with the knobs until the water is the temperature that Sam usually prefers. Sam casts a look in the direction of the kitchen, his forehead wrinkling in worry. The smallest things get Sam stressed, needing to feed Marv on time, buying the bread that is the best deal, and worrying over pasta that is just stewing in a pot, waiting to finish cooking.

watches Sam for a bit before saying, “A watched pot never boils.”

  
Sam’s head snaps up, remembering a conversation about the saying that Tron, Quorra, and himself had several days prior.

“ _A watched pot never boils.” Sam grins as Quorra stares fixedly at the swirling vat of TopRamen._

_  
Quorra’s head tilts in confusion, “What does that mean? ‘A watched pot never boils’. I’m watching it and it is still boiling. The ramen will still be cooked in the same amount of time too.” She states matter-of-factly, now squinting curiously at the bot as if it would magically stop boiling if she stared hard enough._

__  
Sam shrugs, “It’s just a saying, Q. Probably something about being patient and be productive instead of doing something useless because staring at boiling water seems to take longer when you’re watching it.”  


_Quorra tilts her head in a dog-like way, crossing one arm and resting her other elbow on the crossed arm, then resting her chin on her free fist, her classical thinking pose. “I think it means that putting pressure on something doesn’t make it go faster.”  
_

_Sam looks surprised on how quickly Quorra came up with her own interpretation. But does it truly surprise him? No, not really. Tron sits, listening to the conversation. He looks thoughtful, perhaps discovering his own meaning for this phrase.  
“A watched pot doesn’t boil. . .” Sam mutters, thinking while staring down into the pot of cooking ramen._

A small, confused smile crosses Sam’s face, “What does that have to do with this?”

  
“Staring at the shower isn’t going to get anything done faster.” Tron replies easily, shrugging.

Sam nods, “Yeah, yeah,” The User murmurs, looking towards the kitchen again. Tron rolls his eyes.

“If it bothers you that much, I’ll cook the pasta while you take a shower.” Tron instantly regrets suggesting the idea. The program can do many things, cooking is definitely not one of them. Too late to back out.

“Are you sure, Tron? I could just do it when I get out.” Though Sam says it casually, Tron can notice the fresh load of stress that seems to weigh down the User’s figure as he asks.

No. “Yes,” Tron replies as calmly as possible, “Can I have instructions?”

“Yeah of course,” Sam bites his lip, thinking of things that Tron would need to know. “Well, first you’ll need to heat up the pan again. Then once the water starts boiling you can put the box of pasta in, after ten minutes you can take it out and drain the water.” Sam counts off a couple of fingers, an imaginary checklist for cooking pasta. “Then, you can put the tomatoe sauce I already opened onto the pasta. Maybe you could put in the leftover taco meat from yesterday.” The User suggests, trynig extremely hard not to waste any precious food. “If you could wash the grapes too that would be awesome.” Sam finishes, letting out an almost unnoticeable sigh of relief.

  
Tron nods an affirmative to understanding all of Sam’s instructions before walking to the kitchen. The program can hear a door shut and a steady spray of water turn on, Tron smiles.

  
As soon as the program reaches the kitchen, he panics. How in the Grid would he cook pasta? Tron follows Sam’s first instructions, reheat the water to a boiling point, once it is boiling, place the pasta in. It was simple enough, perhaps he wouldn’t mess anything up after all. That is, of course, when everything goes wrong.

  
After Tron places the tomato sauce in the microwave to heat, he goes to wash the grapes, lathering and rinsing the vegetable/fruit soap off of each cluster. Tron places the newly washed grapes into a bowl when a sharp smell pierces the air. Tron freezes, he has never smelled anything like this. He follows the smell to the microwave, opening it.

  
A plume of dark smoke assaults Tron’s face, leaving the program coughing and disgruntled. He carefully extracts the scorching hot ceramic bowl of tomato sauce from the box, hissing slightly as it burns his fingertips. The burnt smell follows Tron, drifting throughout the house. It further imprints the fact that Tron cannot cook.The program yelps in aggravance as he notices the time, the pasta has been cooking for twenty minutes, not ten. Once everything has settled down, Tron takes a deep breath, rolling his eyes.

  
Tron completes the rest of the tasks with ease. Pouring out the water, putting the pasta in bowls, dishing taco meat into the pasta, and applying the kinda burnt sauce.

The hiss of running water shuts off, Sam’s shower is over. Tron now accurately understands a fraction of the stress that Sam feels daily.

Sam soon enters the kitchen, nose wrinkling at the burning smell. “Is everything okay?” He inquiries, glancing over the food on the counter.

“Yes, I may have overcooked the noodles and burned the tomato sauce.”

Sam laughs, “Really? It looks like you have inherited Alan’s cooking skills.” Tron raises an eyebrow, unsure if that is offensive of not. “I was thinking we’ll eat when Quorra comes home in about,” Sam glances at the clock, five-thirty, “two and a half hours.”

Tron nods in agreement, “Sounds good.” Tron crosses over to Sam, draping his arms over Sam’s shoulders so he can smell Sam’s wet mop of hair. He blinks and pulls away, the strong artificial citrus smell stuck in his nostrils.

Sam looks like he doesn’t know what to do with all of the free time he has, he wanders around the house, picking up clothes from the ground or just staring at a room before moving on. Tron follows him, analyzing his strange drifting.

“You should rest, I would like to call Alan anyways, update him on the Grid and such.”

  
Sam looks as if he is about to protest, however his tiredness gets the best of him and he nods, walking over to the living room couch and plucking a book from the top of a nearby coffee table. Tron leaves to go contact Alan, though he hates having to pick up that wretched phone again. Alan has requested updates on the Grid everytime that Tron visits the User World. Mostly because he likes talking to Tron, but also because Alan feels partially responsible for the general well-being of the Grid because it was his closest friend’s creation.

  
Sam eventually falls into a fitful sleep, his book lying askew on the floor, pages bent at odd angles. A pillow is grasped in Sam’s vice like grip, it is squashed and twisted. Sam’s face slowly transfers from a peaceful expression to a grimace. Nightmares have arrived.

It seems so real. Sam swears it’s real, it has to be, blood from nightmares doesn’t feel this warm, this sticky and thick. It clogs Sam’s nostrils, it drowns him. Screams shred through every inch of air, Sam claws at his ears, trying to get rid of the wretched screams. It isn’t real, it isn’t real. But it is. It has to be, why else would he be back at Clu’s ship? Back in his cell. Watching everything bad, everything wrong happen.  
“ _Sam! Help-”  
“We’re always on the same team. . .”  
“Hey kiddo, welcome back.”  
“I’m not your father, Sam. But I’m very happy to see you.”_  
Make it stop. _Make it stop._

Tron hangs up from the phone call after saying his goodbyes to Alan. The program quickly places the phone several feet away from him, wiping his fingers on his shirt as if some imaginary grime were transferred from the phone to his hands.  
A rustling sound faintly emits from the living room. Tron ventures to the sitting room, searching for the source of the noise. The program quickly locates Sam, analyzing the scene in less than a few seconds.

  
The User is curled in a tight ball, shivering and flinching every other second. Tears streak down his face and blood drips down his cheek from his lip, which Sam most likely bit while caught in his nightmare.

  
Tron needs to wake Sam up now. The program crouches next to Sam, placing a hand on Sam’s mop of hair. Tron strokes Sam’s hair, gently shaking him awake.

  
The User’s eyes snap open, his entire body jerking in a violent flinch. His fingers clutch at the pillow that is pressed to his chest, but he doesn’t move. Only his eyes flick around the room, eyes wide in terror.

  
Sam cannot move. All of his limbs are tense and frozen in pure panic. He needs to run, he needs to leave, but he can’t move. Tears leak out of Sam’s eyes, it’s too much. Too terrifying. Sam wants to die, it is the only freedom from this fear, Clu isn’t dead. He can’t be. It was so real, Clu had been right there and now he is coming for Sam. Sam barely registers the hand in his hair, or the program standing next to him.

  
Tron notices the fear trapped in Sam’s eyes and frowns, nightmares. Tron curses silently, Sam hates nightmares. That’s why he doesn’t sleep, and now Tron basically forced him into sleeping. “Sam?” The program says, trying to wake Sam from his paralysis. The User doesn’t respond, though Sam’s eyes focus on the program like a lifeline.

  
Sam wants to reach out to Tron and wrap his arms around the strong, sturdy program to anchor himself. Sam wants to bury his face in the crook of Tron’s neck and forget everything, let Tron protect him. But Sam. Can’t. Move. His brain is screaming at him to go to Tron, he needs to or else he’ll drown in the terror enveloping his thoughts.

  
Tron carefully worms his arms underneath Sam’s body, scooping the User up and cradling him against his own chest. Sam still shivers against Tron’s chest, sinking into Tron’s chest. The program bends down slightly and presses a kiss to Sam’s hair, burying his nose in the citrus-and-sweat smelling hair. Sam’s breathing becomes less constricted, now ruffling the loose folds of Tron’s shirt.

  
Sam’s terror is beginning to thaw, it melts away from Sam’s mind like ice in the sun. Tron’s strong arms securely carry Sam to his bedroom, carefully depositing him on the bed in the right corner of the room. The User’s body sinks into the fabric, the bed dipping when Tron sits down next to him.

  
“Sam?” Tron purrs questioningly, “Are you alright now?”

Sam frowns and attempts to move, he succeeds, snuggling against Tron. “I’m better now. But Tron. He was there, he-he was hurting you and me and everyone was dying and-”

“Sam, calm down. It wasn’t real and I’m here now. I can protect you.” Tron interrupts, wiping away the fresh tears streaking down Sam’s face.

“No Tron, he’s alive we need to go, we need to get Quorra, Alan, and Lora then we have to run.” Sam insists, trying to struggle out of Tron’s arms.

“Sam stop, it was just a dream. Calm down- Sam,” Tron protests as Sam’s flailing elbow catches him in the jaw. “Sam calm down, it was fake, just a dream,” the program insists, kissing Sam’s forehead.

Sam tires, panting while lying in Tron’s arms. He whimpers, turning to face Tron and burying his face into the program’s neck. Tron kisses Sam’s forehead, “I’m here to protect you. Clu will never harm you again,” A growl catches in Tron’s voice, “even if I have to derez him in every glitched nightmare you have.” Tron sighs against Sam’s hair, “Do you think you can get some more rest?”

  
Sam suddenly snaps to action, flinching and pulling his arms up to cross in front of his chest for comfort, “I don’t want to sleep, please. He’ll come for me again!"

  
“Sam, shush, just relax and breathe. It was all fake. I’m here to protect you.” The security monitor murmurs, hugging Sam to his chest. They say nothing more, and finally Sam calms down enough to fade to sleep in the comfort of Tron’s arms.  
The sharp crack of a door hitting its frame quickly jolts Tron awake. The security program’s adrenaline pulses in a steady rhythm, waking up much more quickly than Sam, who slowly stretches upwards, rubbing the gummy sleepiness from his eyes.

“Glitch it, you let me sleep in? Is that Quorra who’s home?”

  
“Dinner’s ready,” Tron reassures the User, listening to the newcomer’s footstep patterns. “That is Quorra too, so we can eat now. You got sleep, that’s good.” Sam groans, falling backwards into bed and placing a hand on his forehead. Though Sam doesn’t mention it, he is still pretty shaken from the nightmare he had just experience mere hours earlier.

  
“Saaaaaaaaaaaam,” Quorra calls from downstairs, clambering noisily up the ladder, “Troooooooooon,” the ISO reaches Sam and Tron’s floor level, walking into their room. “Hey, food is downstairs and I’m hungry. Can we eat now?” She queries, and adds before Sam can answer, “I also got some art from the museums, can we hang them up in the family room?” Quorra leans against the doorframe, settling in her thinking pose. She takes in the tangle of the User and program's tangled limbs and thinks nothing of it, she’d seen it plenty of times.

  
“One questions at a time, Q.” Sam chuckles, reluctantly extracting his limbs from Tron’s and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Tron follows Sam’s actions, pressing one more kiss to Sam’s temple before standing up and stretching gracefully.

“So?” Quorra directs the attention towards herself again.

“Yes Q we can eat right now, and we can also hang up the paintings you got. I can go buy frames tomorrow.” The User chuckles, running a hand through his mused hair, Tron reaches over and fixes a certain disheveled section of Sam’s hair. The User retaliates by poking (Quorra has learned that many Users call it booping) Tron’s nose.

  
Quorra snorts in faint amusement and impatience, “I’ll be downstairs, waiting. For eternity.” The ISO exaggerates, bouncing away.

  
“We should probably go down and eat dinner, it’s probably cold though.” Sam frowns as if the minor unpleasantry of a cold dinner is as serious as a broken limb. The security monitor agrees and follows the User downstairs where Quorra is sitting in a chair, kicking the air with her legs.

  
Sam sits down next to Quorra, Tron sitting down on Sam’s left. “Quorra, can you get forks?” Tron asks, dishing food onto Sam’s plate for him. The User doesn’t even notice until Tron is finished serving the food.

  
“Um, thanks.” Sam says absentmindedly, his gaze spaced out.

  
“Sam?” Tron catches the User’s attention again while Quorra scoops a generous amount of pasta and sauce onto her plate.  
Sam snaps out of his daze once more, turning to Tron, “Huh?”  
“You’re thinking about something.”

  
“That’s correct buddy.” Sam mumbles, spooning some spaghetti into his mouth. Tron knows that the glitched User is avoiding the topic, however Tron will not be deterred.

  
“About the nightmare?” Though Tron’s voice influxes like a question, Sam knows it is not.

  
Sam nods slowly, “Yeah, it isn’t something that just,” Sam adds some waving gesture, “goes away without another thought.” Sam starts shivering, Quorra tries her best not to eavesdrop to respect Tron and Sam’s privacy, “It’s just-”

  
Tron cuts off Sam with a soft kiss before drawing him into a hug, letting Sam bury his face in the crook of the program’s neck. “It’s safe now, Sam. I want you to remember that I love you and will always protect you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if I got any of the quotes incorrect,  
> not all of them are from the movie. ~ :)


	3. When in Doubt, Watch the Shining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just two bois watching The Shining.

The rest of dinner passes uneventfully, with the exception of when Quorra accidentally (maybe not quite to accidentally) manages to flip a forkful of pasta at Tron’s face. Sam stays edge the rest of the meal, only picking at his food and acting extremely twitchy and uncharacteristically silent. To calm himself, Sam reaches over, laying one of Tron’s arms in his lap and tracing the program’s circuits on his forearm. Tron responds by huffing in mock annoyance and switching to his right arm to eat. 

Quorra soon finishes gulping unholy amounts of pasta and deposits her plate in the already-full sink. Sam sighs in dismay, “Quorra, clean your plate, don’t just leave it there.” 

Quorra attempts to ignore Sam, speeding up her pace in the direction of her room. 

“Quorra,” Tron warns, giving her a slight smile as she turns around to face the two. 

The ISO sighs, posture slumping slightly before correcting itself. Quorra mutters something along the lines of “Fine” and hurries to the sink, washing her plate, then speeding to her room before Tron or Sam thought of something new for her to do. 

The time slips by and the night trudges on slowly. After an hour or so after dinner, Sam has calmed down enough to start up an open conversation with Tron about normal everyday things. 

“I wanna watch a movie, do you want to watch a movie together?” Sam asks the program, washing the mountain of dirty dishes stacked in the sink. Tron nods, putting down a book he has been reading while simultaneously keeping up a conversation with Sam. In the User’s opinion, it was impressive how well Tron multitasked. 

The two sit down in front of the fairly newish TV in the living room. Sam picks up the remote, switching on Netflix. “So many options, so little time.” Sam sarcastically whispers, grinning and theatrically doing jazz hands. “Look, we can either watch Lion King, or, right next to it is Pet Sematary. Wow, those two are extremely similar.” 

Tron laughs softly, and to Sam, it is one of the best sounds in the world. It’s short and has a low clicking sound at the root of the noise. The sound feels like waves crashing over each other, each layer a slightly different timbre of sound. “We don’t have movies on the Grid.” Tron muses, tilting his head in thought. “I wonder if programs would enjoy them.”

Sam chews on the inside of his cheek, “I bet they’d think that Users are insane.” Sam chuckles, “Also they’d probably question the point in watching other programs act out plots.” 

Tron nods in agreement, his electric blue eyes following the progression as Sam scrolls through the movie options. 

“Um, there are horror movies. Has Quorra shown you anything in the horror genre? It’s one of her favorites, I think. Well, it was at some point, she switches preferences very quickly.” Sam chuckles, thinking of the energetic ISO. 

“Quorra hasn’t shown me any horror. Last time I watched movies with her we watched some sort of crime-mystery. It was very intriguing.” Tron muses, remembering the strange film and how it portrayed Users solving difficult crimes.

Sam pokes Tron’s shoulder jokingly, “What a surprise, the security monitor loves watching crime-solving movies.” 

For a while longer, the two scroll through the horror selection, looking at the many options the Netflix graciously provides. “Saw, The Shining, Scream, I’ve heard Scream is good. Uh, what else is there? IT. . . Us, IT and Us, that’s kind of funny. Halloween, The Nun, Quiet Place, some obscure ones I’ve never heard about. . .” Sam goes on and on, marveling at the very extensive selection of the horror genre. “They have everything here, don’t they? Well, which ones sound good to you, Tron?”

The program shrugs, “Which one is the best?” Tron asks simply, snatching a blanket from a nearby chair and snuggling closer to Sam with it. 

“Honestly I haven’t watched a lot of these. I’m more old style so I liked the classics usually.” Sam shrugs, “There are so many options nowadays, it makes everything really difficult.”

Another quiet trill of a laugh escapes Tron.

“Why are you laughing so much? You usually aren’t that big into laughing.” Sam teases, pressing a kiss to the top of Tron’s head. The program responds by burying himself neck-deep in the folds of the blanket.

“You’re happy now,” the program states simply, a small smile touching the program’s lips.

“Ah, now I feel special.” The User grins. “Well now back to movies, we’re still lost.” Tron huffs in annoyed agreement. 

“Well, I guess we can just take Quorra’s advice from a day or two ago. ‘When in doubt, watch The Shining’.” Sam declares, picking up the remote and turning on the classic horror movie by Stanley Kubrick.

About thirty minutes into the movie and the pair are already immersed in the story. Sam cuddles next to Tron underneath the blanket, absentmindedly tracing the circuits on Tron’s arms. The two continue to watch The Shining, Sam sometimes flinching slightly at small jumpscares.

Farther into the movie, one of the most famous scenes is played. The mother of the child, Wendy, picks up the script of her husband’s new book, only to find one sentence there, a sign of his now evident insanity. “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

Just as the climax begins to rise, Tron pauses the movie. “See Sam? Working too much will make you insane and murderous.” The program states matter-of-factly, lightly chucking the remote at Sam’s chest.

“Hey!” Sam yelps indignantly, grinning broadly. The User whacks Tron with a pillow, messing up his hair. 

“I rest my case.” The security monitor states solemnly, wrapping his arms around Sam’s neck and snuggling closer to him. 

“You’re gonna wake up Quorra, you Gridbug.” Sam smiles softly, playing with Tron’s hair.

“I’m already awake.” Quorra’s cheerful call from a shadowy corner causes Sam to jump.

“Geez Quorra how long have you been sitting there?”

“Since you two started arguing. I couldn’t sleep.” The ISO replies, her expression is almost challenging Sam to send her back to her room. Tron doesn’t look surprised that Quorra is awake, most likely has known since she entered and just decided not to mention it. Quorra bolts upright, getting a good look at the TV.

“You’re watching The Shining without me!” Quorra huffs and practically dives onto the couch, confiscating the blanket on top of Sam and Tron and constructing a cocoon out of the fold of fabric. 

“You little gridbug. . .” Tron huffs, stealing back the soft blanket, which provokes Quorra to lay on top of their legs. 

Marv blinks sleepily from his dog bed across the room, yawning and rising to his feet. The little boston terrier pads over and hops into Quorra’s arms. The dog curls up, content with the warmth and attention he gets from the ISO. 

The credits eventually begin rolling, but nobody moves. Quorra has fallen asleep on Sam and Tron’s legs with Marv. Sam gently repositions Marv and Quorra to the other side of the couch before turning on his side and burying his face in Tron’s chest. The circuits beneath the programs shirt glow faintly underneath the fabric and provide a pleasant warmth. Tron rests his cheek on the side of Sam’s head, his breath ruffling the User’s hair. The two fall asleep, enveloped in a cocoon of each other’s warmth. 

The credits end and the only sound that disturbs the silence is the four even patterns of breathing. 


End file.
